Adventurous mumbo-jumbo

“Fairies do not exist in reality,” said the elf and struck out with both hands. He sat on the beach and talked to himself, and it was going just fine.

“But I like the tales about them. Especially the good fairies are sometimes involved in wonderful stories, and I’ve also myself told stories with fairies.”

“Remember the tale of Sleeping Beauty. She was such a prettily child, and then she was conjured to sleep for a hundred years. Think of a hundred years. It is a sleep that will matter. I wonder if she then had become an old wrinkled lady.”

“I think not. But I do not know more than you.”

“I do not either.”

Now I just said that I prefer good fairies. In my view, the evil ones have no right to exist. I’m so sensitive and come easy to tears.”

“You are a soft elf, you. You have to take the rough with the smooth, otherwise there will be no colors on, and then you’re not for real adventures, but collect only cutout pictures.”

“Well, The Ugly Duckling, not to mention Hansel and Gretel, are unbearable. I will only read fairy tales, where the lovers are happy and get each other in the end. It fits to my imaginations, what adventures are concerned.”

“Yes, as I said: You are soft. Some do not understand that a real adventure is an analogy to reality and discard it as nonsense. But he who wrangles about what is real and what is not, gives me a headache. Are dry, dead leaves, as the wind whistles down the sidewalk on an autumn day, just ment to be removed as garbage, or is it the autumn goddess’ whispering secrets of life’s vicissitudes telling you why they are there?”

“I think it depends on whether you have a listening mind, or if you close your mouth, and ears for the adventurous babbling, so instead you can hear your own inner discussions.”

“If I come to think that a withered flower does not contain poetry, I will go to the Snow Queen’s kingdom and dance and play with the Northern Lights elves, till my soul gets its natural, healthy tan again.”